


Avalon

by ohnoscarlett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Wincesty - Freeform, near the end (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-29
Updated: 2006-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: DISCLAIMERS, ETC... The characters don't belong to me, blah blah blah Kripke-cakes. Thanks to Ramsesthegreate and Imdakota20 for beta. I could launch into this whole explanation of how my preferred version of the King Arthur story is the Marion Zimmer Bradley girly "Mists of Avalon" deal, but I won't. It may help understanding my train of thought, however.





	Avalon

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS, ETC... The characters don't belong to me, blah blah blah Kripke-cakes. Thanks to Ramsesthegreate and Imdakota20 for beta. I could launch into this whole explanation of how my preferred version of the King Arthur story is the Marion Zimmer Bradley girly "Mists of Avalon" deal, but I won't. It may help understanding my train of thought, however.

Title: Avalon  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Pairing: Sam/Dean/OFC  
Rating: PG-ish  
Warnings: Wincesty, near the end (implied)  
Author’s Notes: DISCLAIMERS, ETC... The characters don't belong to me, blah blah blah Kripke-cakes. Thanks to Ramsesthegreate and Imdakota20 for beta. I could launch into this whole explanation of how my preferred version of the King Arthur story is the Marion Zimmer Bradley girly "Mists of Avalon" deal, but I won't. It may help understanding my train of thought, however.

 

[Dean drives. Sam sleeps. Dean thinks.]

I am not beautiful. That fate has always rested with my brother. Even when childhood's golden curls slowly darkened, he had a certain quality. He has the face of our mother. The face of an angel.

I have the face of our father.

The two of us are a pair; there is no denying that. Sam is sensitive, gentle. I am… opportunistic. Sam is the best way to pick up women, ever. They eat him up with a spoon. And then, when it’s clear he won’t take them home, they naturally come over to me. Not that I mind Sam’s cast-offs. We definitely have the same taste. Or at least the same type of woman always has a taste for us.

Therein lies our problem. We are two sides of the same coin. Light. Dark. Smooth. Rough. But we are the same, ultimately. Forged in the same fire, with the same iron…

***  
Sam thinks he’s the only one in our family to have ever read a book. I’ve read my share. And not all demonology and mythology and folklore, although those are generally the most useful in our line of work. Sam forgets that I finished high school before he even started. I read the classics. I read some crap. What did he think I did in the car all day before it was ever my turn to drive? Sometimes the stories hit home, they connected, and not just in the dead mother, psycho ex-marine dad way.

Sam is Lancelot. The knight wholly devoted to the honor of his lady. Of course, this lady is dead, but that never seemed to matter in our quest before. Jessica was more an Elaine, a diversion. But I would never tell him that. That particular lady was never mine. Does that make me King Arthur? Probably. Our mother was the first Gueneviere in our lives, the queen of both our hearts. But not the last. Never the last.

We always fell for the same girl. Always. Even as kids. Sam would puppy dog eye all my girlfriends, and they would all puppy dog eye him back, the cute little bastard. Little? Well… He was as tall as I am when he was twelve, and taller about a minute later. It got rough bringing girls home when Sam was in high school. He was beautiful, and I would always find him making them toast in the morning, chatting like old friends, smiling slyly behind coffee cups. I would always find their phone numbers slipped into his coat pockets. It didn’t matter. We shared everything else anyway. We still do, for that matter.

***  
I should have known never to date a woman named Gwen. She set off all my alarms the minute I heard her name. She fit the mythology I had created for Sam and myself in my head. She was even British! Dad hated her, but he never liked anyone who took our time and minds away from work. That was part of the reason I liked her, too. Made dad crazy. And Sam. I could see a physical reaction in Sam the first time he met Gwen. He softened. It lasted a full minute, and then he stiffened. At first I thought he chilled to her because he didn’t like her, and I was confused. Sam was eighteen, and Gwen was hot! We always liked the same women. I didn’t get it. I almost didn’t see her again because of Sam. Hell, half the fun of dating was making Sam crazy.

This was in the year before Sam left for Stanford, of course. I knew he was unhappy with us. I didn’t really care. He was eighteen, and I just figured it for a phase. I was also wrapped up in Gwen. Literally, half the time. She was great. She liked Sam, too; I could see that. I didn’t mind. Hell, I encouraged it. It was normal, standard issue, for us. Sam wasn’t the same that year, though. He wasn’t the same old happy-go-lucky sociopath--well, more happy-go-lucky kid than sociopath, but we all have our leanings…

Gwen was just trying to make me happy. Trying to make Sam happy. It backfired, of course. Usually does. She could see that I loved her. She could see that Sam loved her. And he did. She saw it before I did. It explained a lot, when I saw it. It made sense. Sam wanted us to be normal. That’s all Sam ever wanted. Sam didn’t want to love Gwen because I loved her, and I was his brother. Brothers can’t love the same woman. Not in the real world. But in our world, that was the way it always worked.

Gwen was the one who found Sam after he fought with dad and left our apartment. I don’t know where she found him, but she called me and told me she had convinced him to go with her back to her place. I didn’t tell dad. When I got there, Sam was still angry, pacing. Tough to do in a tiny apartment. I loved Gwen’s apartment. It was essentially bed, refrigerator, hot girl…

And therein lay our problem. Gwen coaxed Sam onto the bed. To sit, with a beer, to vent. It was the only furniture, after all. We three stayed there, nursing the same three beers, for hours. Sam calmed down. He was still angry, still determined to leave, but he didn’t want to rip a strip off me just for being within reach. I didn’t notice when Gwen’s hands on me became hands on Sam. Her hands, my hands. It didn’t matter. I just didn’t want Sam to leave. Neither did Gwen. I hadn’t seen that. Gueneviere loved Lancelot. This time, Arthur and Lancelot were brothers.

She fulfilled all the prophecies I had created.  



End file.
